Inside The Mind Of A Killer

Chapter 3: Ditching Class and Going Camping

As soon as I set foot inside my house later that night, I am immediately greeted by my mom, who has dinner prepared for me. There are a couple of plates and forks sitting on the table.

"Right when Brandon gets home from work, you two going to eat some dinner," she informs me, leading me to the dining room.

"Did you and Dad eat anything?" I ask.

"Yes, we ate while you were out." Mom walks over to the microwave and pulls out two enchiladas, then places one on my plate. "Make sure you eat all of that, ok?"

I nod, comfortably positioning my fork in my hand. "Ok."

Mom leans over to give me a kiss on my cheek. "That's my boy. Did you have fun with your friends?"

I shove a piece of enchilada inside my mouth and swallow it before replying. "Yeah."

"What'd you do?"

"Had some ice cream, then hung out at the park," I answer, gulping down some more of my dinner.

Mom smiles. "Well, that sounds like fun. I'll let you eat now." She is about to leave the dining room, likely heading to her room. "Please remind Brandon to eat his dinner when he comes back."

"Ok."

Silence fills the room as I continue to eat. There's a lot on my mind, but I would prefer not to think about any of it. I instead concentrate on the taste of my food. It tastes alright, but enchiladas were never at the top of my "favorite food" list. The only sound I can hear is the slow and low ticking sound coming from the old grandfather clock in the living room. I wish I knew what time it was.

I hear the front door open and shut, and I am soon greeted by the presence of my brother, who doesn't look all that happy to see me. He's in his work uniform– a brown Burger King t-shirt with a burger and the logo printed on it, black pants and shoes, and a Burger King visor. He approaches the dining room table with a glare lining his facial features.

I attempt to converse like any sibling would do. "Hey, Brandon. There's dinner on the table for you–"

"So, how was your day with Noah?" Brandon asks sourly, removing his visor from his head and setting it on the table. He sees the tray that holds the last enchilada, and uses a nearby spatula to scoop it up and place it on his plate.

"Er, it was good." I clear my throat and poke my fork into the remainder of my enchilada. "How was work?"

"Busy," Brandon mumbles, taking a large bite out of his enchilada. "It was unusual for a Saturday afternoon."

"Aren't Saturdays busy anyway?" I ask.

"Afternoons aren't normally busy. They tend to be slow, unlike during lunch hours. Lunch rush is stressful." Brandon scoffs as if I don't know what I'm talking about. "You would know if you had a job."

I finish up what's left of my dinner, not wanting to contribute to that part of our conversation. It's kind of a touchy subject. He is right, though. Despite being the older sibling, I have yet to get a job. I worked for a gas station store once, but I got too overwhelmed, so Mom thought it would be better for me if I quit. Ever since Brandon started working, he hasn't gotten off my case about the whole ordeal.

"I'm sorry..." It's the best I can think of.

"Yeah, whatever." Brandon scoots his chair out, takes his plate and fork to the sink, then passes by me on his way to the basement. "See ya."

I stand up and head over to the sink, carefully setting my dishes inside it as well. My room is also in the basement, so I make my way downstairs and frown slightly when I pass by Brandon's room. It sucks having a poor relationship with him, but there's not much I can do when he refuses to listen to my side of things. Then again, I could always try harder myself. However, that's more difficult than it seems.